


While You Were Sleeping

by ryeloza



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryeloza/pseuds/ryeloza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt is living a quiet, routine life until one event turns everything upside-down. Basically, it's the plot of While You Were Sleeping in the Parks-verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue ******

Every morning, Ben Wyatt's alarm goes off at 6:15am. He hits the snooze button twice before he gets up.

Coffee is a necessity before anything else. He drinks it while checking the news on his computer. Most days, he feeds Tobias, the stray cat who sleeps on his fire escape almost every night. Then he showers, dresses, and spends too much time on his hair before he finally gives up, sighing at his reflection in the mirror.

He's out the door by 8:05.

He arrives at work by 8:35, gets his second cup of coffee, and enjoys the thirty minutes or so of quiet before people start rolling in. His office-mate, Chris Traeger, arrives at 9 on the dot each day, never anything less than totally enthused about life. Ben tunes him out by absorbing himself in spreadsheets and numbers, and looks forward to lunch, when he gets the office to himself for forty minutes.

At least twice a week, Chris asks him to come out after work or go running or join him on a double date, and most of the time, Ben turns him down. He usually stays late in the office until his eyes can't focus any more, and then he heads home. He eats dinner, watches some television, reads a little if his eyes aren't too tired, and then he goes to bed.

This is his life. It's mundane. It's responsible. It's everything he wanted when he was an eighteen-year-old kid running from his mistakes. Fall. Winter. Spring. Summer. Day after day. Year after year. His routine.

Until suddenly, one not so unusual November day, it all changes.

That's the day he meets Ann Perkins.


	2. Chapter 1

 

**Chapter One ******

Ann Perkins is beautiful. Smart. Caring. Funny. Active. Renowned in the field of nursing.

Ben learns all of this about her before he meets her.

It's the same thing any time Chris gets a new girlfriend. He comes in one day, beaming more than usual, and reigns down the same parade of stale adjectives that describe all of his girlfriends. Of the ones Ben has met, they typically are beautiful, smart, caring, funny, active, and renowned in their various fields of work. So when he finally meets Ann Perkins, he's not surprised that she's entirely within Chris' wheelhouse.

She's also blatantly head-over-heels for Chris.

The first day he meets her, she arrives at the office at lunchtime, still in scrubs and smiling like Chris is the only person on the planet. It possibly explains why she doesn't notice Ben until he's witnessed two awkward displays of affection and three comments better saved for private.

"Isn't she perfect?" asks Chris when he returns from lunch that afternoon.

Ben, who has heard this same speech too many times, doesn't even bother to tear his eyes from the computer as he nods. "She seems great."

"She is. And so interesting. Did you know she can crochet? She's making me a scarf."

"Neat."

"Perhaps we should double date sometime. Ann has many wonderful friends. She's so vivacious. I'm sure one of them would be perfect for you."

Ben nods noncommittally. He has no desire to double date with Ann and Chris. Given Chris' track record and Ann's obvious affection for him, though, he gives the relationship six weeks, tops.

"You have to take risks sometimes, Ben," says Chris, who is now doing his after-lunch sit-ups, "or else there's no reward. It's one of my most important mantras."

Ben sees neither risk nor reward in wasting a night on a double date with Chris, except for possibly missing a new episode of _Doctor Who_. He doesn't respond, though. Chris, as usual, doesn't notice.

The next day, Chris hands him a magnet that says, "No risk, no reward."

For some inexplicable reason, Ben puts it on his fridge.

The Ann Perkins weeks, as Ben is already referring to them in his mind, continue right on schedule. After two weeks, Chris is listing one of her best qualities for each after lunch sit-up. By week three, he's talking about how much he loves her. By week four, they're seeing each other almost every day, which inevitably leads to Chris beginning to lose interest by week six.

He never seems to understand why. It sneaks up slowly until one day he comes to work saying things like, "Ann Perkins is so interesting. But she used to be so much more interesting. Have you noticed?"

Ben, who has seen Ann approximately half a dozen times in person, can't comment on whether or not she's an interesting person. Judging by the workout clothes she was wearing last week, though, he would certainly guess that she's been sucked too far into Chris' orbit.

The breakup seems inevitable. A couple of weeks before Christmas, Chris decides to take use his annual ski trip and meditation retreat as time to think about their relationship. Ben assumes they'll be done by the new year.

*****

On December 22, Ben and Chris both arrive at the office before the sun is in the sky. Ben is determined to get some work done before the office Christmas party inevitably cuts into his productivity. Chris is leaving for Colorado that afternoon, and needs to finish some things up before his trip. They work in an amicable silence for most of the morning, the quiet only occasionally broken by Chris' cheerful humming. His excitement about "ten days away from the buzz of civilization" is palpable.

The rest of the office begins to break down sometime around noon. Chris goes out to join the festivities for a little while, and Ben shuts the door and secludes himself at his desk. It's a little over an hour before Chris returns, two glasses in hand and a slightly glassy look in his eye that indicates someone got him to have a drink while he was at the party.

"You leaving?" asks Ben as Chris sets down the drinks on his desk and then heads over to his own. His desk is immaculate, but he still takes a minute to adjust his pencil cup and put away his calculator before he turns back to Ben.

"Is there anything more exhilarating than the anticipation of a well-earned vacation?" asks Chris.

Ben's last vacation was to visit his parents in Minnesota. Dread might have been a more accurate word for what he felt then.

"Let's toast," says Chris, coming back to Ben's desk and picking up one of the glasses. Ben raises an eyebrow, but he grabs the other glass and lifts it. "To the new year," says Chris. "And new beginnings."

"Cheers," says Ben, tapping his glass against Chris'.

His office-mate smiles, sipping the drink and then tossing the remaining contents into the wastepaper basket. Ben downs his in one gulp.

By the time Chris leaves, the office party is in full swing. Ben shuts the door again, determined to get in at least another hour or two of work before he joins the festivities. He barely has twenty minutes to himself, though, when someone opens the door too hard and it slams into his desk, rattling his lampshade and making him hit the wrong number on his calculator. He sighs, thinking for the hundredth time that he really needs a bigger office (or a desk that's not crammed into the corner by the door), but his wallowing is cut short by a too-eager voice that says, "Who's ready for some ski-tastic fun?"

For a second, he actually thinks Chris is back. Instead, it's just his girlfriend, echoing his words in such an uncanny manner that it's almost spooky. Chris actually said the word "ski-tastic" when he left.

Ann, luggage in tow, finally manages to make her way into the office, but her face falls considerably when she sees that Ben is the only one here.

"Hey," she says, sounding much more like herself instead of the Chris-clone. "Sorry. I figured you'd be out there." She nods her head toward the ruckus coming from the bullpen of the office and then looks around again, as though she could have missed Chris somehow. "You're not one for office parties?"

"Just trying to finish some things up before the break," he says.

"Right. So, uh, is Chris out there? I didn't see him when I walked through …"

"Chris?"

"Yeah. I know I'm a little late. My best friend insisted on helping me pack. It took me awhile to convince her that I didn't need the fingerless gloves."

"Uh—Look, Ann …"

"Sometimes she doesn't hear me when I say things, you know."

"Yeah," says Ben. "Speaking of, I don't know what Chris told you about his plans …" He trails off, waiting for Ann to interrupt or say that she just came to say goodbye before jetting off to Paris or something that is going to relieve him from being the bearer of bad news, but she just stares at him. "He, uh, kind of left."

Ann laughs, a nervous titter that Ben's heard every time he's had to translate Chris-speak into reality. That _he's just fucking with me _giggle. When he doesn't react, he can see the tension wash across Ann's face. "What do you mean?" she asks. "He told me we were going skiing in Colorado for Christmas. _He invited me to come _."____

"Did he?" asks Ben. It comes out harsher than he means it to, and Ann glares at him.

"Of course," she snaps. "I distinctly remember. We were talking about our plans for Christmas, and I said that I didn't have anything special planned, and then he said he was going skiing, and then I said that sounded wonderful and …"

Ann's eyes widen as she trails off, and he can see the recognition dawn in their depths. As many times as he's seen this happen, it's still just as awkward as the first time.

"Oh my god."

"I'm sorry."

"Oooh my god," she groans, sinking down on the edge of Chris' desk. "How did I—Why didn't he—" She buries her face in her hands. "I'm an idiot."

"You're not."

"I am."

"It's just Chris," says Ben consolingly. "It happens all the time."

Ann groans louder.

"I mean, not all the time. It's just, you know how positive he makes everything sound …"

Ann whimpers, and he says a silent prayer that she doesn't start to cry. He stands, putting out a hand toward her shoulder and then retracting it. "It's not as bad as it seems. It's just how Chris is."

"A jerk?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Ann finally lifts her head from her hands. He's relieved to see that her cheeks aren't tear-stained. When she sees him, though, her embarrassment seems to heighten. "I'm sorry," she says, standing and blindly grabbing for her suitcase. "I, uh, I'm just going to get out of your hair. Sorry."

She makes a beeline toward the door (which, admittedly, isn't far), and before he can so much as glance at his abandoned spreadsheet, Ben finds himself speaking again. "Look, do you want to maybe get a cup of coffee. Vent a little?"

"No, thank you," says Ann. "I'm just going to go home and curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment."

"Right."

"Sorry. Again."

He nods, but Ann is already out the door.

Out in the hall, the party is still going on, the noise worse than it was when he sequestered himself earlier, but he can't quite bring himself to close the door. This isn't the first time that he's had to break bad news to one of Chris' girlfriends, and as always, he's left unsettled and feeling worse than Chris ever will about the situation. He kind of wishes he could punch Chris in the face. He might, if Chris wasn't the closest thing he had to a friend.

Aimlessly, he steps over to Chris' desk. As usual, it's immaculate. Without really thinking about it, he starts rearranging the color-coded post-its that cover part of the surface. When he's done, he snatches the brand new stack of orange post-its and tosses them into the trash.

Vengeance.

It doesn't make him feel any better.

He sighs, looking out the window at the gray slush that covers the streets, frowning as he spies Ann, her bright purple suitcase still in tow. She's pacing back and forth outside the building, gesticulating wildly as she talks into her cell phone. He wonders who she's talking to. Chris? His voicemail? The mysterious best friend with the fingerless glove fetish?

He shakes his head, ready to turn back to his desk and put Ann out of his mind (he's already sure he'll never see her again), when suddenly there's a commotion from the street. It's so loud that he can hear it three floors up, even with the party going on outside his door. The screech of brakes. A horn blasting. He looks down again, and his heart flies into his throat.

He's out the door before he can say a word. Past his drunken coworkers. Past the elevator. Straight down the stairs two at a time. His cell phone is already out and dialed by the time he bursts out into the street, ignoring the blast of frigid air.

The driver fled.  He's gone by the time Ben reaches Ann. Her body is contorted. She's bleeding from her forehead. Her suitcase is a mangled mess beside her.

_That's it _, he thinks, just as the 911 operator picks up. _ _This time, I really am going to punch Chris _ _.______


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two ******

Two years ago, Chris broke up with a girl named Bethany Whitacre without her realizing what was happening. A week after the breakup, she arrived at the office with a surprise picnic lunch, only to learn that Chris was already seeing someone else. Ben had ended up sitting on a park bench with her for three hours, consoling her as she cried into a red checkered picnic blanket.

He really had been convinced that his unwilling participation in Chris' love life would never get worse than that moment.

As he stands in the waiting room of the ER, he realizes that he hasn't been so wrong about anything since he decided to build try to build a winter sports complex when he was eighteen.

He's not quite sure why he's here. The police had questioned him at the scene while Ann was rushed off in an ambulance, and despite the sweating, chills, nausea, and elevated heart-rate that typically follow an encounter with the police, he's in no need of medical attention. For all intents and purposes, his role in this horrible day is over. Ann is in the hands of medical professionals; the police will do what they can to apprehend the driver. Ben should be home with a cup of hot tea, trying to put the memory of Ann lying in the street out of his head and calm his temper enough to call Chris.

Instead, he's in a crowded ER, sitting between a guy with a gash in his arm and a woman with a crying baby.

It's inexplicable. For his entire adult life, Ben has been the person who does not get involved. He keeps his distance from his coworkers; he gets dumped by his girlfriends for not being able to commit; he doesn't even have a real pet—Tobias only comes around when he's hungry. It's a system that's been working for him for almost two decades now. He learned the hard way not to try too hard; as an eighteen-year-old mayor who bankrupt his town and was hated by every man, woman, and child who'd known him since he was a kid, he knew exactly what you got when you got too involved.

Just look at Ann. She'd been so wrapped up in Chris, so clearly in love with him, and what did it get her? A broken heart and a trip to the hospital.

He blinks, slightly disturbed by the callousness of the thought, and looks around the waiting room as though someone might have read his mind. When no one approaches with torches and pitchforks to drive him from the ER, he only feels somewhat relieved.

What is he doing here?

Chris should be the one in this chair. Despite the fact that his actions were indirectly responsible for what had happened, he was the one dating Ann. He was the one who had claimed to be in love with her. And Chris, for all his faults, is not inhuman; he'd be at Ann's side in a heartbeat if he knew. Chris was definitely not afraid of getting involved.

Ben sighs, standing up and heading for the automatic doors that lead to the ambulance bay. It's dusk now, and other than a few nurses who are outside taking a smoke break, there's no one around. When he slides his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contacts to Chris' name, he reminds himself that none of this is really Chris' fault. Chris wasn't driving the car. He didn't intentionally mislead Ann. He definitely didn't mean to leave Ben to pick up the pieces.

The phone rings.

_It's not his fault_ , he repeats like a mantra. _It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not his—_

"Greetings, friend! You have reached the voicemail of Chris Traeger. I am genuinely sorry that I am not available to take your call. For the next few days, my phone will be turned off during my annual meditation and ski retreat holiday. I assure you that I will return your call as soon as I resume communication with the outside world. I hope that you have a peaceful and happy holiday season!"

_Oh good Lord._

By the time the beep follows the message, Ben is barely thinking clearly. His annoyance with Chris seems to have returned tenfold, and all he can think about is Ann, pale and lifeless, lying on the street with the gash in her head and her leg twisted in an unnatural direction.

"Chris, this is Ben," he says. His voice is unsteady, and he can feel his hand shake as he holds the phone to his ear. "I know you're off _meditating_ , but I'm currently at Pawnee St. Joseph's Hospital, where your girlfriend has been admitted after being hit by a car. Outside our office. Where she came to meet you for your ski trip. So maybe you want to resume communication with the outside world a little early this year."

Hitting the end button isn't as satisfying as slamming a land line onto a receiver would be, and Ben still feels worked up when he ends the call. Annoyed, he heads back into the hospital, approaching the nurse's desk. He'd been brushed aside when he first got there, told to sit and wait, but his usual common sense and even temper have taken a temporary back seat to his frustration.

"Hi," he says brusquely, ignoring the finger the nurse holds up. "I've been here for over an hour now, waiting to hear something about Ann Perkins—"

"Yes. I know, sir. If you could just take a seat—"

"She was hit by a car!" He bursts out. The nurse jumps, but he barrels on, determined to make someone see reason. "It happened right outside my office. I saw the whole thing. I called 911. I waited around and talked to the police while she was driven off in an ambulance. All she wanted to do was go on a ski trip with her boyfriend, and now she's lying in a hospital in god knows what condition! I don't think it's asking too much for you to tell me if she's going to be okay!"

The nurse stares at him, almost as though she's seeing him for the first time. Ben takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He's about to apologize when the nurse says, "Sorry. I didn’t realize who you were. If you can wait just a few more minutes, sir, Dr. Harris will be down soon to give you an update."

Ben gawks at her for a minute, not quite sure what just happened, and then he nods mutely. He returns to his seat, feeling completely disoriented.

That's all it took? Saying he called 911?

It's closer to forty-five minutes before Dr. Harris ambles into the waiting room. For the first twenty, Ben sat in his slightly dazed stupor, trying to understand his encounter with the nurse. For the next twenty-five, he started to get annoyed again. It all disappears the second the doctor approaches him. In that moment, he has a sudden, sickening feeling that he's about to hear that Ann didn't make it.

"So the good news," says the doctor, as he leads Ben away from the waiting room, "is that Ann is going to be fine."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank god," says Ben. He reaches out, grabbing the doctor's hand and shaking it, and is surprised when the doctor barely acknowledges it, simply continuing down a hallway as though he expects Ben to follow.

"The bad news," says the doctor, stopping at an elevator and jabbing a button, "is that she won't be skiing this weekend."

Ben blinks. Is that a joke?

"I'm sure she'll be very disappointed when she wakes up," the doctor continues. "But maybe that's what happens when you take a week of vacation at Christmas." He looks at Ben pointedly, and Ben stares back, feeling like he's missed something important in the conversation. It isn't until he follows Dr. Harris onto the elevator that the faint recollection pops into his head.

Ann is a nurse.

Ann must work at this hospital.

"She has a broken leg," continues the doctor as they get off the elevator and proceed down yet another hallway. "Some fractured ribs. And some swelling in her brain. We induced a coma until the swelling goes down. I assure you, though, she's going to be fine."

"That's wonderful."

"Yes."

Dr. Harris stops and Ben looks at him expectantly. For a moment, they're stuck in a rather uncomfortable staring contest, and Ben is almost ready to offer him a tip when he says, "You wanted to see her, right?"

"Huh?"

He turns his head, glancing through the glass window next to him, and realizes that he is, indeed, standing outside of Ann's room. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says, "But I think there's been—"

The doctor's pager beeps, and he sighs. "You can go in," he says.

"But—"

"I'll be back in a bit."

Dr. Harris heads back the way he came at the same brisk pace, leaving Ben standing awkwardly in the hallway outside of Ann's room. He has no idea what he's doing there. All he wanted was to know that Ann is okay. And now he's being given personal information by her doctor and left alone in her room like he's an old friend or something. It's unsettling.

Not quite sure what to do, he skulks into the room, creeping to the foot of Ann's bed and awkwardly tucking his hands into his pockets. Despite the large cast on her leg, the bruising, the dried cut on her forehead, and the various tubes and machines she's hooked up to, she looks better than she did when he first saw her after the accident. The color is back in her face, and she looks peaceful. Almost like she's sleeping.

"Uh, hey, Ann," he says, rocking back a bit on his heels. "I um…I called Chris. Left a voicemail. I'm sure he'll be here, you know, once he resumes contact with the outside world."

If Ann has an opinion on this, she doesn't voice it.

"I'm glad you're going to be okay," he says. "The doctor—"

"A-A-A-A-A-A-A-ANN!"

The sudden shout comes from a distance, but Ben is so startled that he nearly jumps out of his skin. Without thinking, he backs away from Ann's bed, feeling somewhat like a cornered animal. The woman shouts again, and he hears a clattering of heels down the hallway. A second later, a blonde blur rushes past the door, and then backtracks and enters the room.

"Ann!"

The woman rushes to the bedside, clasping Ann's hand in her own and clinging to it like a lifeline. Ben takes another step backwards, glancing toward the door and wondering if he can flee.

A second later, Dr. Harris enters the room, followed by a heavyset elderly man who is struggling to breathe.

"What's wrong with her?" asks the woman, rounding on the doctor as soon as he enters. "Is she okay? What happened?"

"As I tried to tell you before," says the doctor, "Ann is going to be fine. We had to induce a coma because of the swelling of her brain, but that's only temporary. In a few days, the swelling should go down and we'll be able to wake her."

"Oh Ann," says the woman, brushing Ann's hair away from her forehead. "You beautiful snow leopard. Everything is going to be okay."

"I already said that."

"How did this happen?" the woman asks again. "They said on the phone that she was hit by a car."

"That's exactly what happened."

"But who—how—?"

"That's a question for the police."

The older man, still breathing heavily, hands pressed to his chest like he's in severe pain, wheezes, "Doctor, do you think it would be possible to get a glass of water?"

"Stand down, Jerry!" shouts the woman. "For once this isn't all about you!"

The older man sinks into the chair, still clasping at his chest. No one seems the least bit perturbed.

Ben backs toward the door, hoping to make a silent escape before anyone in the room realizes that he exists, but he barely makes it three steps when someone loudly cracks a piece of bubblegum behind him. "Who're you?" asks a bored voice, and Ben winces as everyone in the room turns to stare at him.

He glances at the doorway. The voice that interrupted his escape belongs to what appears to be a teenaged girl, who looks more like she's being forced to go to the dentist than like she's visiting the victim of a tragic accident.

"I'm, uh, no one," stammers Ben, turning back toward the others. "I was just leav—"

"He called 911," says Dr. Harris, sounding nearly as bored as the girl. "He was on the scene at the time of the accident." He looks from the blonde woman to Ben, and raises an eyebrow. "The new boyfriend, apparently. Chester or Charlie or something."

"Ben," he corrects automatically.

" _You're_ the new boyfriend?" snaps the girl behind him.

_Boyfriend? Wait, what?_

He raises his arms in surrender, trying and failing to find the words to correct the mix-up, but he can't manage more than a few inarticulate syllables when the woman says, "You saved her life."

"Technically, he dialed 911," says the doctor. The clarification doesn't seem to reach this woman's ears, though. She repeats the words, "You saved her life," again, and he can see the tears welling in her eyes. _Oh god._

"I didn't—It was just a phone call—"

He doesn't even finish the sentence before the woman practically barrels into him, her arms tightening around his rib-cage in a bone-crushing hug. "You saved her life," she says again. She squeezes him tighter, and despite the fact that he can barely breathe, he gives her a reassuring pat on the back..

This is bad. So bad. Ann is in a coma, and Chris is off meditating in the mountains or something, and the old man in the chair may be dying of a heart attack, not that anyone seems to care, and he can still feel the unsettling eyes of the teenage girl on his back, and all these people think he's Ann's boyfriend. He knows he should confess. Explain. Tell these people that he's not Ann's boyfriend and go back to his normal sleepy life.

But for some reason, the words don't come out of his mouth.

That reason may or may not be related to the suffocating hug the woman is giving him.

He can't remember the last time someone hugged him.

"Thank you," says the woman. She gives him one last squeeze and then her arms loosen and she steps back. When she looks up at him, her eyes are still glassy with tears, but the gratitude there is unmistakable. He wants to shy away from it, from her, but it's almost magnetic. When she turns back toward the doctor, ready with another barrage of questions, it feels as though a spell has broken.

Reality.

Right.

He slinks back toward the door, grateful that the woman and the doctor are preoccupied again. The only one still paying attention to him is the teenager, and he gets the feeling she doesn't care what he does. "I'm, uh, gonna go," he says to her in a low tone. She continues to stare at him, unblinking, and he swallows. "Tell, uh …"

"Leslie."

"Yeah. Tell Leslie that I said bye. And I'm sure everything is going to be okay."

"Let's hope not."

Ben’s brow furrows; he’s not sure if the girl is joking or not, but she doesn't say anything else. She brushes past him, almost roughly, and he tries not to shudder.

The second he's in the hallway, out of sight of Ann's room, he falls back again the wall, breathing deeply. He has no idea what just happened in there. The doctor thinks he's Ann's boyfriend. Those people think he's responsible for saving Ann. Chris isn't answering his phone.

All he was supposed to do today was finish his work, have a drink at the Christmas party, and then go home and enjoy his holiday.

How the hell did this happen?

He's still leaning against the wall, trying to compose himself enough to leave, when Dr. Harris comes out of Ann's room and starts down the hall. Ben straightens up as he sees him coming, reaching out and catching him by the elbow as he passes.

"Oh," says the doctor impassively. "You're still here."

"Why did you tell them I was Ann's boyfriend?"  Ben hisses, trying, for no particular reason, not to be overheard.

"Because Nurse Franklin told me you were Ann's boyfriend."

"I'm not!"

"Okay." The doctor shrugs. "Then why was she meeting you at your office for a romantic ski weekend? We all knew about it. She requested a week off."

"That wasn't—It was—Look, I'm not her boyfriend, okay?"

"Fine. You're not her boyfriend. I don't really care."

Judging from the uninterested way he says this, Ben has no doubt that it's true. Still, he can’t help but add: "Well what am I supposed to do?”

Dr. Harris shrugs again, and Ben knows that his next words will be “I don’t really care” before he even says them. He’s the most indifferent doctor Ben’s ever met.

“Now excuse me," says Dr. Harris. He pulls his arm away from Ben. “I have other patients.” Without sparing another glance at Ben, the doctor continues down the hallway. Ben turns and thumps his head into the wall.

_Never get involved_ , he reminds himself.

God, he needs a drink.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Ben is no stranger to sleepless nights. When you single-handedly destroy a town when you're only eighteen, it's followed by a healthy dose of anxiety and months of insomnia. He learned long ago that routine helps. It's the type of consistent rhythm that school children follow, and he might be embarrassed by that if hadn't learned long ago how underrated a good night's sleep is.

So he's not at all surprised that after the day he had, sleep seems to be the furthest thing from his mind.

He'd tried and failed to reach Chris again when he got home from the hospital. While some small part of him hopes that it's because Chris is somewhere over the Rocky Mountains, trying to find his way home to Ann, he mostly fears that Chris really won't look at his phone for four days. The thought of it puts a knot in his stomach; he can only imagine the hurt and confusion that will follow his confession of the mix-up. And as much as he dreads explaining his own role in this, the thought of having to make excuses for Chris is so much worse.

As much as he hates to admit it, Chris is the closest thing that Ben has to a friend. But Ben is neither eloquent nor tactful enough to make excuses for his behavior.

The worst part is that Chris could do it. Chris could waltz into the hospital tomorrow, tears in his eyes, consolations and apologies on his lips, and all would be forgiven without a second thought. Ben would gracefully bow out and go back to his normal life, and all would be right with the world.

Without Chris, it will just be Ben, fumbling to find the right words, making Chris sound like the enemy, and bungling up everyone's lives.

Would it really be so bad to wait for Chris, accompany him to the hospital to make his own apologies, and then quietly disappear?

By the time he finishes nursing his fourth beer, the same thoughts circling in his mind with no end in sight, he decides he needs some fresh air. He stands, displacing Tobias onto the floor, and heads outside.

The snow that had started when he left the hospital is settled now, a mess of mush and ice along the sidewalk and the streets that will probably seep straight through his shoes. He just jams his hands into the pocket of his coat, though, and heads down the street; his mind already feels clearer in the crisp cold air.

"There was a mix-up," he practices, watching his breath form a white puff and disappear into the night. "I'm not Ann's boyfriend. I just share an office with him. He and Ann had a little miscommunication about the ski trip, and he had already left when she got there. She was upset and ran out of the office, and then the accident happened. I haven't been able to reach Chris, but I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can."

Simple. It doesn't sound so bad.

If he could just say it and then disappear, it would be fine. But his mind already supplies the barrage of questions that follow.

_What kind of mix-up?_

_Why was Ann upset?_

_Why can't you reach Chris?_

_Why didn't you say something sooner?_

His own annoyance with Chris is still bubbling under the surface, and he knows it will come out. He's not even sure why he cares one way or the other. Poisoning the well with his own version of the truth is probably nothing less than Chris deserves, yet somehow, it still feels like a betrayal.

_Or it's the easy way out._

It is. Not getting involved. For once, not trying to explain away Chris' behavior. It's so much easier.

And to be quite honest, he's not sure which excuse is the truth. Maybe they both are.

It doesn't make either of them legitimate.

The thoughts continue to follow one another in his mind, too influenced by his own guilt and cowardice to find a logical thread to follow. After twenty minutes, he's only slightly surprised to find himself standing back outside the hospital.

And it's illogical, but he wonders that if he just sees Ann for a few minutes, maybe he'll know what to do.

The hospital is much quieter at this time of night. He goes in through the lobby rather than the ER and finds his way back to the fourth floor without encountering another soul. Upstairs, the lights are dimmed and the only sound is the ambient noise of heart monitors and computers.

Feeling slightly out of place, he creeps down the hall to Ann's room. It's half-lit, and he wonders if a person in a coma has any concept of night or day.

"Hey, Ann," he says softly. He approaches the bed, his hands still jammed into his pockets, and looks down at her. She looks the same as when he saw her this afternoon; he has no idea whether that's good or bad.

_This is absurd_ , he thinks. He has no idea if she's going to be okay, no idea if she'll ever even wake up, and in light of that, whatever internal conflict he's having seems wildly insignificant.

He rubs his hand over his eyes, quite suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Oh!"

He turns at the soft exclamation; Leslie stands in the doorway, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking as surprised as he feels to see her.

"Hi," he says. "Sorry. I didn't realize … I didn't think anyone would be here this late."

"I never left," says Leslie. She walks around the bed, picks up a stack of binders from the seat of a chair and places them on Ann's bedside table, and then sits across from him. She smiles at Ann, giving her hand a squeeze, and then her eyes flit back to Ben. "I couldn't. She's my best friend in the entire universe."

It almost seems pointed, considering his own supposed relationship to Ann, but there doesn't seem to be any maliciousness in the comment. It's simply a fact, as basic as humans need oxygen or the sky is blue. Ann is Leslie's best friend, and she isn't going to leave her side.

In his whole life, Ben doesn't think he's ever cared that much about another person.

The thought makes him sad.

"Sorry," says Leslie, and for a second, he's convinced she read his thoughts. "We were never properly introduced." She stands and sticks her hand out over the bed, and Ben scrambles to rise and meet the gesture. "I'm Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of the Department of Parks and Recreation."

Ben almost smiles. "Ben Wyatt," he says. And then, as though it's perfectly normal to include one's profession in an introduction, he adds, "Accountant."

"Hot accountant," corrects Leslie, grinning at him. She lets go of his hand and sinks back into her seat. "That's how Ann referred to you."

Right. He's Chris in this scenario.

He has to tell her.

"Look," he says, fumbling with the zipper on his coat; it's suddenly, inexplicably warm in here, "about that. I'm not—"

"No, I know," Leslie says apologetically. "You're more than just a pretty face. It's just that when you and Ann first started dating, that's how she referred to you. The nickname kind of stuck."

_Chris would be thrilled_ , thinks Ben. He mostly feels nauseated; the lie sits like a rock in his stomach, and with each passing second, it feels more absurd to spit out the truth: that he's a nobody who barely knows Ann but is pretending to be her boyfriend in order to avoid an awkward conversation.

That's not at all weird. Or slightly creepy.

Ben can't quite articulate why it matters if anyone thinks of him as weird or creepy, which in itself is a whole other level of concern. As soon as he admits the truth, he can walk out of this situation forever and never see Leslie or Ann again. Maybe he can even switch offices at work to avoid Chris.

That thought is not as appealing or comforting as it should be.

"Are you okay?" asks Leslie. "You look a little flushed. Maybe you should sit down. Oh! Or—" She reaches for her purse and begins to dig through it. "—I have NutriYum bars!" She produces them, smiling triumphantly, and holds out one to Ben. "My friend Andy brought them when he came to pick up April and Jerry." She glances down at Ann and shrugs. "Sorry, Ann."

Ben takes one of the bars from Leslie's hand and glances down at the familiar label. Sometimes he eats them just to annoy Chris.

"They're good for getting through long work nights," says Leslie as she rips open the wrapper of her own bar. She takes a huge bite, shivering a little as she swallows, and her eyes brighten in a way that suggests the sugar hit her immediately.

"I usually prefer coffee," says Ben, but he opens the wrapper anyway and takes a more conservative bite than Leslie. It still feels like an instant sugar rush. And then, because he truly is a coward at heart, he changes the subject.

"So...Your friends left?"

Leslie nods. "Jerry was complaining about his heart. I probably shouldn't have made him run back to the car when I found out about the accident. We were responding to a call about some kids ice skating on the pond at Ramsett Park. You're not supposed to do that, you know, even though only one kid has ever fallen through the ice and that's only because it was March and the ice was half-melted—but anyway, April had just finished scaring off the kids when I found out about Ann. We ran back to the car, and the stress was apparently too much for Jerry to handle, so Andy came and picked up him and April here."

"Oh. So they were just your coworkers."

Leslie's brow furrows the tiniest bit, almost as if she's confused by Ben's casual observation, but before she can say anything else, there's a knock on the window. Ben looks over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of a frustrated-looking nurse, but when he turns back toward Leslie, she's disappeared.

"Visiting hours ended over an hour ago," says the nurse. Ben turns to face her, an apology already formed on his lips, but the nurse isn't even looking at him. "I know you're there, Leslie."

Ben raises an eyebrow as he glances back at the other side of the bed; Leslie's blue eyes peek up over the edge, and reluctantly, she raises herself to her full height. "I warned you at nine, Leslie. You promised you'd leave."

"It's a dumb rule."

The nurse sighs. "You can come back in the morning. At ten. When visiting hours start."

"Maybe we should go," he says to Leslie. She looks ready to fight, which would probably not go over well with the hospital staff. "You don't want to get banned from the hospital."

He's mostly joking, but the idea seems to quell Leslie's urge to protest. She sighs, gathering her coat, scarf, hat, purse, and three binders, and nearly stomps out of the room. "I'll be back at ten," she says to the nurse.

"Wonderful."

Sheepishly, Ben follows Leslie out of the room and down the hallway to the elevator. "Here," he says, watching Leslie struggle to balance her stuff while putting on her coat. He reaches out to take the binders and she jams her hat on her head, almost angrily.

"It is a dumb rule," Ben offers.

"They're just still mad at me because I stole all that flu medication a few months ago," says Leslie. She pulls on her coat, a big puffy thing with the name of her department embroidered on the breast, and zips it up to her neck. "Maybe if they weren't so stingy with the doses, people could get back to work sooner."

The elevator doors ping when they reach the first floor, and Ben follows Leslie out, through the lobby, and into the parking lot. She tugs on her gloves, and then reaches out to take the binders back from him.

"Thanks." She presses the binders to her chest and looks up at him. "Where'd you park?"

"I didn't," admits Ben. "I walked."

"Oh. Do you want a ride home?"

"Oh, no. That's okay. It's just a few blocks."

"It's freezing," says Leslie. "And I don't mind. Come on."

She starts to walk before Ben can protest again, and reluctantly, he follows her across the slushy parking lot. When they reach Leslie's car, she opens the back door to put her binders into a briefcase, which is buckled into the back seat.

"What are those, anyway?" he asks, opening the passenger door and watching as Leslie carefully steps to her side of the car.

"Work binders." She slips a little as she opens her car door, but manages to stay upright. "You can never be too careful."

He nods. "The last time I flew home to see my family, I put all of my work files in my carry-on just because I didn't trust the airline not to lose my checked luggage."

"You'd be crazy not to," says Leslie. She climbs into the car and Ben follows suit. As he fastens his seatbelt, he catches another glimpse of the files, and this time, he can't stop himself from smiling.

"So you're not a native Pawneean?" asks Leslie.

"No. I'm originally from Minnesota. I moved here right after college."

"Well it is the greatest city in Indiana. Probably America. Possibly the world."

It's also the first place Ben went after his disgraced tenure as mayor where not one person knew about his past. Not that he's going to mention that to Leslie.

"So I live on Pine Street."

"Really? That's just a couple of blocks from my house."

"Small world."

Leslie nods, and then for the first time all day, lapses into a silence. But even silence with Leslie seems to be fraught with energy; he swears he can practically hear her thinking, can tell by the grip of her fingers on the steering wheel that she's either still angry or worried, and he has the overwhelming urge to tell her that's it's going to be okay, even though he has no idea if it is. He drums his fingers against his knee, feeling slightly awkward, and clears his throat.

"So," he says, "how did you and Ann meet?"

"She never told you?"

"No."

"Oh. We met at a town hall meeting. Ann came to complain about the pit outside of her house. You know, where the lot is now." For the first time since they left the hospital, she smiles. "We're turning it into a park."

"Right," says Ben. It stirs something in his memory; a few skeptical articles that now seem impossibly linked to the enthusiastic, obstinate woman he's met today. If he wasn't aware of the thousand obstacles that stood in Leslie's way, he'd be shocked that anyone could write an article that didn't believe in the project as much as she did. "I remember reading about that in the paper. I didn't realize Ann was involved."

"She's practically an honorary member of the Parks Department."

In the litany of qualities Chris had mentioned about Ann, this tidbit had never come up. Ben likes the way it slides into place, though: some definition in the indistinct and unvarying picture that Chris paints of all of his girlfriends. Somehow, though, it's Leslie who sticks in his mind. Leslie, whose coworkers come with her to the hospital; Leslie, who has three work binders buckled into the back seat; Leslie, who works her title into general introductions.

Leslie, whose best friend is an honorary coworker.

Work is practically his whole life, too. And at this moment, he's never felt less like it's an acceptable substitute for everything missing in his life.

"Where do you live?" asks Leslie. She glances over at Ben, and dazedly, he realizes that they're on his street.

"Next block," he says. "The building on the corner."

Leslie slows to a stop in front of his building, and leans over to look up at the apartment. "Which one is yours?"

"Uh…Second floor." He points in the general direction, and Leslie frowns.

"There's no Christmas lights."

"Oh, uh, no. I didn't really get around to decorating this year."

"Right," murmurs Leslie. "Ski trip. I forgot."

So did he, frankly. "It's okay," he says, not quite sure whom he's reassuring. He gives Leslie a tight smile, and opens the car door. "Thanks for the ride."

"So I'll see you tomorrow, probably."

"Yeah. Probably. Maybe."

"Goodnight, Ben."

"'Night, Leslie."

He stands on the sidewalk as she drives away, watching her car turn down the next block and disappear out of sight. When he turns back toward the building, he stares up at his darkened apartment.

He can feel the cold biting his fingers, but it's a long time before he finally heads inside.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Even on weekends, Ben rarely sleeps past eight. The habit of getting up as the light starts to creep through his bedroom window is as ingrained as brushing his teeth each night. The morning after Ann's accident, though, it's not his natural clock that wakes him, but a loud and persistent knock at his front door.

He smushes his face into his pillow and blindly reaches out to grope for his phone on the nightstand. When he finds it, he turns his face and blinks bleary-eyed at the time.

It's 8:23 in the morning.

He throws an arm over his face and wills the person at the door to go away. Even though it's late for him, he only slept a little over five hours, and he's long past the point of being able to subsist on so little sleep.

_Knock knock knock knock knock!_

Seriously? Who in the hell –

What if it's Chris?

The thought jolts through his body like a shot of adrenaline, and it's enough to propel him from bed. He stumbles through the bedroom to the living room to the door; he opens it without a thought to his appearance, and immediately regrets it.

It's not Chris, but Leslie, who stands on his doorstep.

"Hi!" she says brightly. Her eyes scale his form, from his worn gray t-shirt to his bare feet sticking out of the bottom of his plaid pajama pants, and her smile falters just a bit. "Did I wake you?"

"Told you."

The second voice surprises him. Behind Leslie, leaning against the wall, is the same sulky teenager from Ann's hospital room.

"Um …"

"She woke me up too," the teenager grumps.

"The sun was up."

"No."

Leslie looks like she wants to argue, but she when she eyes his pajamas again, a hint of guilt creeps into her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says. "We can come back."

Ben feels like he's five steps behind her. "Why are you here?"

"We brought you a Christmas tree!"

Bewildered, Ben stares. "What?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about it last night," Leslie chatters. "How you were going away, but now beautiful Ann is in the hospital, and you're all alone in this apartment without even a Christmas tree. It's sad."

Sad? Is that what he is?

"I have a cat," he offers weakly.

Leslie's eyebrow quirks. "Ann is allergic to cats."

God, it's too early for this.

Ben is spared a response by the arrival of a third party: from the front it appears to be a tree with scuffed old sneakers and two large hands. It lumbers up the stairs, huffing and puffing, and the teenager moves away from the landing to give the tree room. A shaggy head pops out from behind it.

"Where do you want it, boss?"

He should be annoyed, he thinks. Annoyed at being woken up. Annoyed that three virtual strangers showed up at his door unannounced. Annoyed by her presumption that he wants or needs a Christmas tree.

Instead, he feels weirdly touched by this bewildering woman and her devoted band of weirdos.

Because she's right, he thinks. He is sad. Just not for any of the reasons she thinks.

He waves them into the apartment, stepping back out of the way to give the man with the tree plenty of room. He doesn't even really regret it when the man dumps the tree on the floor in the middle of the living room.

"I'll go get the rest of the stuff!" he says, bounding away like an energetic puppy.

"Your apartment looks like an old lady lives here." The teenager eyes the worn brown couch as though aging is a contagion she might catch from it. Her arms are still crossed over her chest; Ben doesn't think he's seen her in a different stance yet.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Pearl Satan, daughter of the devil."

"That's April," supplies Leslie, shooting a warning look at the girl. "And the man with the tree is Andy."

Ben looks down at the tree, ignoring the mess of pine needles it left across his carpet. "Where did you find a tree this early anyway?"

"Oh, I always have extras."

Apparently Leslie has an excess of Christmas decorations in all forms, because it takes three trips to the car for them to unload the boxes, during which time Ben brushes his teeth and changes out of his pajamas. He and Andy set up the tree in front of the living room window, and then Leslie gets to work. In just over an hour, his apartment is bedecked in twinkle lights, garland, wreaths, tinsel, and one plastic jack-o-lantern courtesy of April (Leslie eyes it exasperatedly and then tops it with a Santa hat).

"And we have just enough time for breakfast before visiting hours start," says Leslie.

For once, Ben doesn't try to make an excuse. He tells himself it's because Leslie wouldn't take no for an answer anyway, which is probably true.

It has nothing to do with the way she smiles at him as she pulls her purple knit cap over her ears.

*****

Breakfast is interesting, to say the least.

They go to JJ's Diner, a place Ben that frequents occasionally, but where Leslie is apparently a regular. The waitress doesn't even take her order, but instead just comes back with waffles and enough whipped cream to fill a bathtub.

Andy and April (who, it turns out, are newlyweds) spend a majority of the meal playing paper football, the goal of which seems to be to hit Ben in the face as often as possible. April's obvious disdain for everything is most clearly directed at him right now, and it's unnerving. Leslie treats the behavior with fond exasperation, and Andy with outright delight, but it does little to quell the eerie sensation that April might gladly try to run him down with her car just to see his reaction.

When he's struck directly in the eye, Leslie confiscates the paper football.

After their meal, April drives them to the hospital; there's no question as to whether Ben will go, and he doesn't have the nerve to protest.

Ann looks the same as she did yesterday, though Leslie declares she has more color, and god help anyone who dares to argue.

"It's going to be hard to ski with that broken leg," Andy comments innocently.

It's a long day: hours in Ann's hospital room, punctuated by respites in the waiting room and the cafeteria, and no news or progress. Andy and April stick around for a few hours, mostly for Leslie's sake, it seems, and they're a solid (if sometimes annoying) distraction. When they leave, Ben's awkwardness seems to increase tenfold, and he finds himself more frequently leaving Leslie alone in Ann's room. If she finds this odd, she doesn’t mention it.

He leaves Chris another half dozen voicemails. He doesn't hear anything back.

He doesn't leave, as much as he wants to.

When visiting hours end, Leslie leaves without protest, and it's only then that Ben gathers the day was as difficult for her as it was for him. Still, she smiles when she says goodnight to Ann, and as they bundle up and head outside, Leslie talks cheerfully about how much better her friend seemed today.

They walk home from the hospital that night. It hasn't snowed since yesterday evening, and the roads and sidewalks are clear enough that they're not risking life and limb.

It's been a long two days, and even though it feels good to stretch his legs, he can feel the tiredness deep down; knows that he'll sleep like the dead tonight. Beside him, Leslie is still unflagging energy, though, and he can't decide if she's always this way, or if it's a coping mechanism to keep from dwelling on the fact that her best friend is in a coma.

It's a beautiful night. The stars are out, crisp and bright in a way they only are in winter, and houses are dark except for the picturesque glow of Christmas lights outside and trees lit up within. It reminds him of Christmas at home – that inevitable moment when his family is just too much, and he escapes for a few hours just to walk around the neighborhood on his own.

The fact that he's very much not alone adds rather than detracts from the experience.

Leslie, as he's seen over the past twenty-four hours, can talk a mile a minute, but tonight it's calmer, more conversational and less hurried. She points out landmarks from a lifetime of Christmases here, briefly touches on her parents, and more often her coworkers, and it feels like seeing Pawnee for the first time all over again.

Given Leslie's proclivity and passion for her job, he isn't surprised when the conversation naturally flows in that direction, but the wistfulness in her voice is unexpected. Apparently, and unsurprisingly, the government shutdown last summer has had long-reaching effects that have slightly dulled Leslie's unbridled enthusiasm.

"I know that everyone just wants me to be grateful I got to keep my job," she says, "but I've never been one to just sit passively on the sidelines. It's the reason I was asked to leave my fifth grade basketball team."

"I get it," says Ben, because he does. He knows that feeling – that need for action; that need to help. "But sometimes to help, it's necessary to sit on the sidelines, right?"

"It's government. Everything is already bogged down in red tape. If I just sat on the sidelines, nothing would ever happen."

"I'm just saying, a little caution doesn't hurt."

"And you know this from all your experience working in government?"

"My one experience, yeah."

Next to him, he can practically hear Leslie putting the pieces together in her head, and the moment it clicks, she stops dead in her tracks. Slowly, Ben turns to face her, fisting his hands tightly in his pockets.

_"You're Benjy Wyatt."_

"Yep."

"My best friend is dating Ben Wyatt, the former mayor of Partridge, Minnesota."

At her words, Ben feels the usual anxious churn of his stomach. "Uh huh."

"I can't believe Ann didn't tell me that. She knows it's relevant to my interests."

"I don't like to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know," sighs Ben, attempting to sound more self-deprecating than bitter. He's not sure he's pulling it off. "Maybe it's the fact that I bankrupted an entire town. Or that my family still barely talks to me. Or that I basically ruined my whole life when I was eighteen."

He stops. That last one definitely sounded bitter.

"At least you tried something," says Leslie. "I mean, obviously it went horribly, horribly wrong, but you were trying to make your town a better place. That's what counts."

Ben glances over at her. She's staring at him, her eyes wide and bright, and he's struck by the sudden realization that she's being totally genuine. There's no hint of teasing, no malevolent undertone, no pity. Just sincerity.

"Maybe you have a point," he concedes. "But you're probably the only person who sees it that way."

"Come on," says Leslie, nudging his arm with her shoulder. "You're too hard on yourself. It's not like you did it maliciously. Like you were embezzling from the raccoon relocation fund or something."

"Did that happen here?"

"Maybe. The point is, you accomplished something at eighteen that most people don't manage until they're three times that age, if ever. You can't live in regret, Ben. I mean, look at me. My department is running on fumes because they cut our budget to shreds. They wouldn't approve my plan to raise money by bringing back the harvest festival. Hell, we couldn't even do our tree lighting ceremony this year. But do you think I'm giving up?"

It's impossible not to smile. "No."

"Of course not," says Leslie. "I'm planning my proposal for bringing back the winter carnival even as we speak. You just have to keep trying."

"Is that what you were working on last night at the hospital?" asks Ben. "Your proposal?"

Leslie nods. "I'm presenting it right after the new year."

"I could help," he offers without thinking. "Look over the budget projections or something." Leslie stops in her tracks, and Ben feels the heat rise in the back of his neck. He swallows, and forces himself not to take it back. "You know … if you want."

"Seriously?"

He nods. "Sure."

"That would be amazing! You could come by the office tomorrow … Or, no, that's Christmas Eve. Oh! But Andy and April are having a party tomorrow night. You can stop by if you want. I can give you my budget binders."

"Okay."

Leslie smiles at him again. Her whole face lights up as she does so. Under the street lights, her cheeks pink from the cold, it's hard to deny how beautiful she is. He ducks his head, almost shyly, and when he glances back at Leslie, her smile falters just a bit.

"We should probably keep going," she says. "Before we freeze."

He nods, and falls back into step alongside her.

Strangely, he can barely feel the cold.

 


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has read and commented on this fic. We're halfway through now!

**Chapter Five**

Whatever reservations Ben has about attending a party with his fake-girlfriend's best friend and her coworkers, they quickly melt away when he parks his car and catches sight of Leslie trudging through the snow covered yard. Eagerly, he opens the door and scrambles out onto the street, shouting her name before he feels any self-consciousness.

"Hey, Leslie," he calls. "Wait up."

Leslie turns at the sound of his voice, and her face brightens when she sees him. "You came!" she says, making her way back through the front yard toward him. Her arms are clasped around two large blue binders, and she nearly skips the last couple of feet to reach him. Excitedly, she holds out the binders to him. "Here. Copies of my budget projections."

"Oh." He takes the binders from her, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. It's a flare of sudden panic that he misread this whole thing, that she only invited him here to get the binders, and not to actually attend the party; hurriedly, he turns back to his car and busies himself placing the binders carefully in the back seat so Leslie can't read his face.

To his surprise, though, he barely shuts the door when Leslie reaches out and grasps his hand. "Come on," she says, tugging him along toward the house. "It's freezing out here."

Despite the fact that Ben has spent absolutely no time picturing Andy and April's house, he finds that it's somehow exactly what he expects: messy, scarcely furnished, and full of Halloween decorations that have been bedecked with Christmas lights. Given what he knows about April, Ben's not sure if it's her aesthetic, or if they just never bothered to take down their Halloween decorations.

"So most of April and Andy's friends are harmless," says Leslie. "Just watch out for Orin. He's the pale kid dressed all in black."

"You're joking, right?"

Leslie shakes her head solemnly. "I never joke about Orin."

She leads him over to Andy and April, who are making out on the couch, practically on top of Jerry, who sits there clutching his heart the same way he did at the hospital. "Thank god you're here!" he shouts as they approach.

Leslie looks only slightly perturbed by the sight of Andy and April, which makes Ben wonder if this is a frequent occurrence. She kicks Andy's sneaker a couple of times and shouts his name, and eventually the couple breaks apart. Andy grins, but April just leans back against his shoulder staring at them.

"Hey Leslie!"

"Hey, Andy." She opens her purse and pulls out a jar of Nutella. "As requested," she says, handing it over. Andy's grin gets even wider, and he immediately opens the jar and uses his fingers to scoop out the spread.

"Thanks."

"Do you want a plate?" asks Ben, trying not to let his disgust show all over his face. "Or a piece of bread, at least?"

"Nope. I'm good."

Leslie leans toward him, gripping his arm just above her elbow for balance as she whispers, "I'm pretty sure they don't have plates." Then, more brightly to the hosts, she adds, "We're going to get a drink."

April points in the direction of the kitchen, and Leslie pulls him along behind her.

From there, Leslie becomes his unofficial date through the party, getting him a drink and introducing him to people as they make their way through the house. It's surprisingly comfortable, considering how uncomfortable Ben often feels at parties where he doesn't know anyone, and before long, he's relaxed and laughing in a way he hasn't in a long time.

It's all spoiled the second he spots a familiar tuft of hair bobbing across the room toward them.

"Oh my god," he cries. Without thinking, he claps his hands on Leslie's hips and crouches behind her. He feels Leslie physically startle, and that alone is enough to remind him that this is a bad idea. What's worse, though, is that Leslie is so tiny that even his slight frame is still visible from where he cowers behind her.

"J-Shot?"

With as much dignity as he can muster, Ben stands to his full height, but remains firmly in place behind Leslie, as though she's a human shield.

"You two know each other?" asks Leslie.

"Are you kidding?" asks Jean-Ralphio. He steps forward, practically pushing Leslie out of the way, and wraps his arms tightly around Ben, who does his best to pull away. "This guy was my mentor. Taught me everything I know about money."

Ben points his elbows out toward Jean-Ralphio's chest and tries his best to wriggle out of the embrace. "You know nothing about money. That's why you were let go."

"Still," says Jean-Ralphio. "Most boring internship of my life. And you were the most boring one there. That's how I know I learned a lot."

Ben finally manages to escape, breathing heavily and eyeing Jean-Ralphio warily.

"I'm sorry," says Leslie. "You two worked together?"

"He interned at my office for one week, during which time he managed to lose one of our biggest clients and incite two sexual harassment lawsuits."

"Jello-Shot here was almost number three." Jean-Ralphio leans in closer and whispers, "Just kidding, J-Shot. We know that was mutual."

Leslie quirks an eyebrow, and Ben sidles back toward her, planting her firmly between Jean-Ralphio and himself. "Whoa, whoa, whoa – hold up," says Jean-Ralphio. "Are you two … ?"

"No," says Ben at the same moment Leslie says, "What?"

"You know," he continues slyly. "Bumping uglies?"

"What? No! No, he's dating Ann."

"Wh-a-a-a-a-a-t? How did that happen?"

"He was running laps in her neighborhood. He stopped to offer Ann some advice about her mulching."

Both Ben and Jean-Ralphio stare at her, though Ben wagers it's for very different reasons.

"Well congratulations, J-Shot," says Jean-Ralphio, leaning forward and clasping a hand on Ben's shoulder over Leslie. "And in all seriousness, I'm glad you're taking care of your health. I'm just sorry it'll never work out between us."

And just like that, Jean-Ralphio melts away into the party, no doubt off to make someone else's life a living hell.

"Well that was horrifying," says Ben. Leslie turns to look up at him, and tilts her head appraisingly. "How the hell do you know Jean-Ralphio?"

"He's friends with my coworker, Tom." She gestures across the room toward a well-dressed man with a sprig of mistletoe hanging from his fedora. He appears to be unsuccessfully trying to convince a woman that it's a reason to kiss him.

"Thank god," he sighs. "If I found out he was working for my local government, I might have to lodge a complaint."

*****

Soon after that, he loses track of Leslie. She excused herself to go to the bathroom, and then he saw her involved what appeared to be a rather serious conversation with April. One or two nasty looks from the younger girl had been enough to keep him away. Since then, he hasn't seen her, though he doesn’t believe she'd leave without saying goodbye.

Typically, he'd melt into the wall and try to act inconspicuous—both because he knows virtually no one here, and because one of the few people he does know is Jean-Ralphio—but it's next to impossible to act invisible among this group of people. He's drawn into a rather long conversation about fiscal responsibility and government spending with Leslie's boss; gets pulled away by Andy, who is in the middle of a fight with his and April's roommate and wants Ben to vouch for how helpful Andy is; and when he finally plops down on the couch for a moment to himself, April joins him.

It's disconcerting at first. April is dressed as an undead elf, and the makeup makes her eyes look darker and more calculating than usual. They sit side-by-side, silent, just long enough that Ben begins to feel comfortable, and then April speaks.

"I know you're not really dating Ann."

Ben's so startled by the statement that he drops his beer. It splashes down his pants and tips onto his shoes and the carpet, but April doesn't seem to care. She just waits, watching him fumble for the bottle and halfheartedly slap at the dark stain on his pant-leg. He clears his throat, not able to decide on truth or denial, and awkwardly settles for croaking, "What?"

April shrugs, folding one leg under her so she can face him more fully. "Not that I care," she says in a way that somehow implies that she does care very much, "but you're not really Ann's type. And you get all pale and twitchy any time someone talks about your relationship."

"I don't—"

"And when we met in the hospital, you didn't know Leslie's name. Ann and Leslie may refer to her string of boyfriends by stupid nicknames, but there's no way someone she's dating wouldn't know about Leslie."

Ben swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't go away. "This is all a misunderstanding," he says. It's the truth. Sort of. "I didn't—The doctor—"

"Look," says April impassively, "you may get off pretending to date coma women, and personally, I don't really care if you try out your creepy fetishes on Ann. But don't screw around with Leslie."

"Leslie and I are just friends."

April's face hardens, but Ben feels a certain level of conviction overtake him that steels him from her skepticism. "Not even friends," he amends. "Acquaintances. She's being nice because she thinks I'm dating Ann, and I'm going to help her out with this budget thing, and that's all there is to it."

He stands, but April continues to stare at the spot on the couch he just vacated. It feels like a bit of a relief, honestly, hearing the truth. It's a reminder of the reality beneath the chaotic fiction of this week.

"I'm not going to tell her," says April. She sounds more like her disinterested self, and less like the slightly terrifying individual who confronted him.

Ben doesn't question that. Instead, he just walks away.

*****

As soon as he finds his coat, he makes his way outside. In his last sweep of the house, he didn't manage to find Leslie, so he's only slightly surprised when he finds her sitting in a chair on the front porch.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

He falters for a moment at the sound of her voice. It's softer, smaller than he's used to, and the goodbye that was on the tip of his tongue a second ago melts away in light of it. "Are you okay?"

Leslie looks up at him. Her cheeks and nose are pink, and he wonders how long she's been out here.

"Are _you_ okay?" she throws back at him, and there's a slightly bitter undertone to the words that confuses him.

He rubs his hands together, and doesn't respond. For the first time since this started, he doesn't feel that burning flare of guilt in his stomach for not telling her the truth. For the first time since this started, the truth isn't on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out just to be pushed away by his pathetic desire not to be alone.

He and Leslie are two strangers thrown together by misunderstanding. He's a distraction while her best friend lies in a coma, and she's letting him feel truly useful for the first time in a long time. There's nothing beyond that, and in a few days, Ann will wake up and this will all be over.

"I'm sorry," Leslie sighs. She stands up and moves against the wall of the house so she's facing him, shaking her limbs a bit in an apparent attempt to warm up. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"Did something happen?"

Leslie shakes her head. "No. It's stupid. I'm sorry. April got in my head."

"April?" He stills his hands and shifts his weight, an attempt to ease the sudden nervous tension in his heart. "What did she say?"

"Nothing important. But between that and the whole Jean-Ralphio leaning thing, it just made me doubt ..." she trails off.

Ben blinks. "Leaning thing?" His brow furrows; it's the last thing he expected her to say, and inexplicably, he feels annoyed. "What … You mean the hug?"

"That was not a hug."

"The completely involuntary hug in which I wanted no part?"

Leslie stamps her foot, presumably to resume circulation, though it comes off rather petulant. "I think I know the difference between a hug and leaning, Ben."

"I don't think you do," he says. "Hugging involves arms and hands, and leaning is whole bodies moving in like this." He steps toward her, ignoring the furrow of frustration in Leslie's brow. She barely reacts; she just presses back slightly into the brick wall, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. His hands land on the wall behind her, just above her shoulders, and as he steps closer, he can feel the heat radiating from her body.

"Leaning involves wanting and accepting," he continues. His throat feels tight, his voice huskier, and his eyes dart over her face, lingering on her lips before he meets her eyes. She's staring at him, and he's close enough that he feels her breathing quicken. "Leaning," he says softly.

"So you're not secretly cheating on Ann with Jean-Ralphio," Leslie whispers. "That's good."

"What?"

"April said—"

But whatever lie April told about his love life, he'll never know.

"Hey Leslie."

Slowly, both Ben and Leslie turn their heads toward the voice. It's one of Leslie's coworkers – the fedora guy; he's supporting Jean-Ralphio against his slight frame, and Ben doesn't miss the humor in the disparity between their heights. Instantly, the tension between him and Leslie breaks. "You okay?" he asks. He shoots Ben a look and then glances back at Leslie. "It looks like he was leaning."

Leslie laughs uneasily as Ben looks back at her, vindicated. He steps back from Leslie. "Thank you."

The younger man rolls his eyes, apparently annoyed that he even asked. "Well as long as you're fine," he says, "you think you can help me with him? He drank too much and tried to kiss Donna. It did not end well."

Leslie opens her mouth, but Ben speaks before she can. "I'll help."

He takes hold of Jean-Ralphio's other arm, hoisting it around his shoulders, and then the three of them begin an awkward stumble toward the street. They get Jean-Ralphio wrangled and into the car, but by the time Ben looks back toward the house, Leslie has disappeared inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first and probably only time I'll borrow dialogue directly from the movie. I couldn't help myself.


End file.
